


Shapes in the Clouds

by EmilyFairy



Category: IT (1990), IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Cute, First Kiss, First Love, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Middle School, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-05-21 05:27:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14909210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmilyFairy/pseuds/EmilyFairy
Summary: There's one thing that my Eds doesn't get though, at least I don't think. He doesn't get that the clouds everyone else sees are like me pretending to lust after his mom. He doesn't get that I'm not kidding when I tell him how cute I think he is and pinch his cheeks. Here I am, trying my best moves out on him, and it's just like whoosh, right over his head, you know what I'm saying? I mean, how much more obvious can I be?"What does a guy have to do, huh?" I yell to the clouds. "Do I need to hire a skywriter or something?"





	1. Feed Me, Seymour

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in September of 1989, shortly after they defeat It for the first time. It's just a cute, innocent little first love story, told from Richie's POV.

Most of my friends don't understand that there are days when the clouds aren't just clouds. They probably think it's just me talking out of my ass like usual, or they write it off as Richie just being, well... me. But I'm not crazy, at least not about this. Clouds really can be something more, if you take the time to look at them.

Like a lot of things here in Derry, the clouds aren't always right. They're either covering the whole sky in a kind of gray whipped cream, or they're those rough, choppy clouds that look a little bit like the cuttlebones I used to buy for the parakeet I had when I was eight. Those are the days when I say fuck you to the clouds and head off to the arcade to battle with old Michaelangelo, Raphael, Leonardo, and whatever the hell the purple one is called. Or sometimes, if I wear him down enough with my best Southern Belle Voice, I have a little ice cream time with my dahhling Eddie Spaghetti, and I do declare that is just about the sweetest thang there is in all of Georg-ahh, bettah than peach cobblah out on the verandah.

But then there are those rare days when I get to lay on my back next to the banks of the quarry, staring up at the fat puffy clouds drifting across the bright blue sky. I look at the clouds and I can see the different shapes they take. They can be almost anything I want, although after this past summer any cloud even remotely resembling a clown gives me a major case of the heebie-jeebies. But can you blame me, I mean, seriously? 'Cause that shit was something else, let me tell you.

Eddie is the only one who gets it. He's the only one who takes the time to see the clouds with me. "Look, Eds, that one looks like your mom after I finish banging her!" I say one warm mid-September day, grinning over at him.

He shoves me hard enough that my elbows scrape against the pebbles lining the shore, but I don't even care. "Beep-beep, Richie, and quit calling me Eds," he says, rolling his eyes. "I think that one looks like E Coli."

"Like, omigod, that is, like, so gross," I say in my Valley Girl Voice, pretending to flip my hair over my shoulder. "Groddy to the max!"

"Oh, and talking about banging my mom isn't gross?"

"Your mom is a major babe, Eds. When are you going to realize it? It's like, ahh-oooga, ahh-oooga!" And I howl like that old cartoon wolf, popping my eyes out for emphasis. "Or maybe you're the babe, I dunno."

"Quit it, or I'm leaving," he says, pouting far too prettily for a thirteen year old boy. "My shorts are getting all dirty down here."

"That ain't the only thing that can get dirty, cutie," I say, waggling my eyebrows at him. "Come to papa!" I throw my arms out and roll towards him, puckering up my lips.

"That's it!" he yells, sitting up and brushing the pebbles off his shorts. "You're fucking impossible, you know that?" And before I can even think about mounting a half decent chase he stomps off through the shrubby trees.

There's one thing that my Eds doesn't get though, at least I don't think. He doesn't get that the clouds everyone else sees are like me pretending to lust after his mom. He doesn't get that I'm not kidding when I tell him how cute I think he is and pinch his cheeks. Here I am, trying my best moves out on him, and it's just like whoosh, right over his head, you know what I'm saying? I mean, how much more obvious can I be?

"What does a guy have to do, huh?" I yell to the clouds. "Do I need to hire a skywriter or something?"

"Hire a skywriter for what?" Mike's deep voice asks as he stops beside me, leaning down.

"Don't _do_ that, jeez!" I exclaim, clutching my heart.

"Sorry," he says with a sheepish grin, helping me to sit up before hunkering down beside me. He crosses his long brown legs and leans back his head, looking up at the sky for a moment, but I know he doesn't see the clouds the way Eddie and I do. "But anyway, what do you need a skywriter for?"

"Uh, well... I guess... I like someone?" I say, keeping my eyes focused on dragging the tips of my fingers across the mud so he won't see my blush.

"Richie in love? That's a terrifying thought," he jokes, nudging me.

"Yeah, man, but I don't know what the hell to do about it. I've tried everything, _everything_ I tell you. Help me, Obi Wan Mike-obi, you're my only hope," I plead.

Mike pauses for a moment to think, his eyebrows drawing together like he's really working the old noodle. "Why not try something from the florist? Girls like flowers, right?"

Part of me wants to correct him, because Eddie isn't exactly a girl. But then again, I think I know just what to get him, the absolute perfect thing to declare my undying love for him without being too sappy... I even have some money saved up, thanks to a couple lawn mowing jobs I managed to score last weekend.

"By jove!" I exclaim, grabbing Mike's hands. "I think he's got it! Old Mikey comes through for Richie the Trashmouth Tozier!" And I slap him five, way up high.

Mike laughs and claps my shoulder. "Well, I'm glad I could help you out, man."

And in my head I'm already imagining just how thrilled Eddie will be when I surprise him.

***

The next day about an hour or so after school lets out I'm knocking on Eddie's door. Thankfully, his mom doesn't answer, because ugh. I know I kid around about having the hots for Mrs. K., but in reality, overweight middle-aged women don't do a damn thing for me, although on the plus side her son is the cutest boy in the entire world. I still have no idea how someone as tiny and adorable as Eddie came out of _that_ , but that's a whole other story.

The object of my affection opens the door and glares at me, crossing his arms. I guess I don't blame him though, since it was Spaghetti Day at school today, and I may have spent the entire lunch period making up songs about my favorite Eddie Spaghetti, until he finally got so fed up he dumped a plateful of it down my shirt. And I have the marinara stains to prove it.

"Spaghetti-man!" I yell, and I want to throw out my arms like I'm starring in a romantic movie but I can't, because they're behind my back, holding the surprise.

He flinches back from me, like he doesn't know what I'm going to do. But half the time even I don't know what I'm going to do, so I guess I can't really blame him. "What the hell do you want, Richie?" 

"Ahh, Eddie, my love, is that any way to treat a fine suitor such as myself? I actually came to ask your mom for her hand but I guess you'll do."

All he does is glare at me some more, brown eyes flashing in the afternoon sunlight, but hey, that's okay. Because once he sees what's behind my back, I can guaran-damn-tee that he is going to be mine for life. Richie Tozier is nothing if not a heartfelt romantic, and you can put that in your pipe and smoke it, ladies and germs.

"Anyway," I say after a beat, clearing my throat. "I got you something."

"If you start serenading me again, I swear to God--"

"Nah," I interrupt in a Voice that isn't anything but my own, low and hopeful. "Check this." And I pull out the Venus fly trap I spent a whole five bucks on, beaming at him. "Remember, Eds? Feed me, Seymour!" 

Over the summer we saw _Little Shop of Horrors_ at the Aladdin, just the two of us, and I've always kind of thought of it as our first date, although I'd never admit that to anyone, especially not him. He even let me buy his ticket and his popcorn. And then there was this moment, where his hand brushed against mine over the armrest, and he looked at me afterwards and we exchanged shy smiles, and it was like, the _best_ thing that happened to me all summer, I swear... but then again, I guess that's not really saying very much, considering.

"Argh!" he screams, holding his hands up to ward off the plant I'm shoving in his freckled face. "Richie, those things are disgusting! Don't you know how much bacteria flies carry?"

"But it's for you," I say, and I'm alarmed to realize actual tears are pricking in my eyes. "I... I got it for _you_ , Eds."

"I can't keep that in my house! My mom would kill me," he says, wrinkling his nose at me. "And don't call me Eds, you know I hate that." And before I can stop him he slams the door right in my face, taking all of my hopes and dreams of becoming Mr. Richie Kaspbrak right along with him.

I stare down at the spot of marinara sauce dribbled over my left Converse sneaker, feeling like the biggest ass in the world. I hurl the Venus fly trap against the side of the house, listening to the clay pot shatter. And I let myself sniffle for a bit, but not enough to get all red and runny.

I don't understand. I'm trying so hard to make him see, but for some reason, even though he sees the shapes in the clouds, he doesn't see this. Why doesn't he like me?

What's wrong with me?


	2. Violets Are Blue, Roses Are Reddie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of the comments and kudos on this fic! I'm glad you all are enjoying it so far. Here is the next part of the story. Please to enjoy. :)
> 
> Also, a little headcanon to get you up to speed. This is a mix of the movie and the book. It's set in the 80's like the movie, and I'm basing the physical looks of the characters off of the movie kids, but I've taken a lot of the characterizations from the book and updated them for the 80's. So, for example, Richie does 80's characters and references instead of 50's stuff like in the book. And I'm even thinking of (heaven forbid!) updating Ben's nickname (Haystack) to something else, because an 80's kid probably wouldn't be familiar with Haystack Calhoun. I had to Google him myself, haha. :)
> 
> Also, Bev hasn't moved away, because like in the book, her mother is still around to take care of her so she doesn't need to live with her aunt in Portland. Oh, and there's a squint and you'll miss it bit of Benverly in here, because they are my other favorite _It_ pairing.  <3

I admit, even the next morning I'm still stinging from Eddie's rejection, which is a little unusual for me. Usually I wake up ready to grab each day fresh off of the tree and squeeze all of the juice out of it, until there's nothing but pulp left behind. But today, all I can do is stare up at the sky, glowering at the gray that must have moved in overnight while I was binging on Cool Ranch Doritos and cursing my entire existence. I guess I should have figured the sky would change, because the good clouds don't ever stick around Derry for long. But there was a part of me that was hoping that maybe this time, it would be different. Maybe this time, I'd get a second chance. 

So, what's a guy like me do when life kicks him in the nads? Go find my pal Bevvie, of course! 

Bev is great. She's tough, she's beautiful, and she's the best guy in our group as far as I'm concerned. And it helps that she usually has cigarettes, which I'm craving like nothing else. My dad's trying to quit again, so I haven't been able to nick any off of him for a whole week now. 

I find her leaning in the usual spot behind the gym, her floral dress billowing in the breeze as she takes a drag from one of her Winstons. "Bevvie, my darling!" I exclaim, running towards her with a bugling cry. "Forsooth, what radiant light do I see before me? Is it real, or is it Memorex? No, it is Beverly, and she is the sun."

"It's _way_ too early in the morning for that shit, Richie," says Bev, but she's smiling at me and I think I might actually get away with it. 

"Can I pleeeeeaaaase have a cigarette?" I beg her, and if it's possible for me to make my eyes even bigger and rounder underneath my glasses, well... I'm sure as hell gonna try. 

She shakes one out of the pack for me, and hands me her favorite tie-dye lighter along with it. And soon, I am back in business, baby. And boy, does it feel good to slowly kill myself with nicotine, especially with the week I've been having. 

"What's got you so worked up lately?" she asks me after a pleasant few minutes spent puffing on the old cancer-sticks together.

"Well, golly gee, Miss Bev, whatever do you mean? Everything is just peachy keen with me and the Fonz," I say, doing my best Richie Cunningham imitation. 

She shoots me a Look, and I instantly quiet, my arms falling to my sides. One thing I learned after hanging out with Bevvie this summer, you do not want to cross her, because she is the master of Bev-Fu, and she will take you down. "You've been even weirder than usual these past few weeks, and that's saying something," she says. We both stub out our cigarettes, and the next thing I know she's fixing me with those piercing blue eyes of hers. 

The trouble is, I don't really want her eyes on me at this particular moment, because Bev's eyes see all, like those freaky-ass Sphinxes in _The Never-Ending Story_. I flail my arms around, and I'm about to launch into my Rainman impression, but she grabs me and pins my arms back before I can really get going. "Dammit, Bev," I mutter, hanging my head. 

"Spill it," she says to me. She lets go of my arms, but I know if I try anything else she'll rassle me into a headlock faster than you can say Macho Man Randy Savage. "You'll feel better, and I won't have to worry about you anymore."

I sigh and give up the ghost. "Okay, okay. I like someone. Are you happy?" 

"Is this _someone_ a short hypochondriac who used to wear a fannypack?" 

"I can neither confirm nor deny that it is Eddie Spaghetti," I say as Norman Normal, FBI Agent, flashing her my imaginary badge to really sell it and hoping she doesn't notice the flush creeping over me. 

"Right," she says, shaking her head, and I know she knows that it _is_ Eddie, but I also know that she has the grace not to call me out on it. 

"What can I do, Bevvie?" I ask. "You're a girl, you must know something about all of this romance junk." 

One of her hands reaches up to ghost across her lips, and her eyes flutter closed as she smiles one of those secret girly smiles. I wonder what she's thinking about. "You could try poetry," she says after a moment. 

"Poetry?" I say more than a little doubtfully. Has Bev _met_ me?

The bell rings, and she shrugs. "Sorry, that's all I got. Take it or leave it," she calls over her shoulder as she saunters away. 

I decide to take it, because what do I have to lose? Things couldn't possibly get any worse, right?

***

I don't see Eddie until lunch, but that's okay, because it gives me some time to sort through everything that I'm thinking and feeling, and how I can best express it in a poem. It's difficult to keep it fresh, since there are only so many things that rhyme with spaghetti, but I think I've come up with a real winner. I'm fully confident that this time, Eddie is not going to be able to resist my charms. This time, Richie Tozier is sure to get the guy.

Right before my Eddie heads into the cafeteria, I snag him by the elbow, making extra sure it isn't the arm with the cast. "Hiya, cutie pie," I say, grinning down at him.

He bites his lip before smiling back at me, brown eyes crinkling at the corners. I'm relieved he isn't still mad at me after last night. "Richie, stop that, I'm not cute," he says, toeing the wall. My heart skips when I see the blush rising on his cheeks. 

"Au contraire, mon frere," I say, draping an arm around his shoulder so I have an excuse to pull him closer. His soft hair brushes my cheek. "You are _so_ cute, Eds. So cute I can barely stand to look at you." 

"Why do you always have to screw around, huh?" he says, pushing my arm away. "Why can't you be serious for once?"

"Who says I'm screwing around?" I say, elbowing his side. I can't resist adding a saucy little wink. 

He huffs at me, crossing his arms. "Can I go now? I'm hungry." 

The hall outside of the cafeteria is now totally deserted, since all of the other kids are already in the cafeteria eating lunch. I can hear the roar of their collective voices through the door, and part of me wants to join them and forget about this fruity wooing Eddie with poetry thing. "No," I say. "Wait. I... I have something for you. Something I want you to hear."

"If it's another dirty limerick about my mom, I swear to God--"

"It's not, I promise," I say, and I hope he doesn't notice how my voice is shaking a bit. I pull out the poem I spent all of second period slaving away on, and clear my throat before reading:

"Violets are blue, roses are reddie  
I simply adore my Eddie Spaghetti  
He is so cute, he makes me feel heady  
I wish he would come here and kiss me already  
Maybe one day we could even go steady  
I don't really care, as long as it's Eddie."

I glance up from the paper, meeting Eddie's eyes, but he isn't smiling like I hoped he would be. In fact his eyes are filling up with tears, and they ain't tears of joy either. He's actually _crying_ , like he's upset with me, and I have no idea why. 

"You are so mean!" he exclaims, stomping off down the hall. "I hate you!" 

"Eds!" I call after him, but he doesn't stop. In a minute he turns the corner and disappears, taking my broken heart along with him.

I rip the poem into pieces and fling them into the garbage can just outside the cafeteria door and then I kick the wall, hard. Through the window I can see rain beginning to pour from the sky, making me feel like the clouds are crying for us both. To tell the truth, I want to cry too.

I'm so confused. I just wrote the most heartfelt thing I've ever written in my life, and on top of that I actually worked up the nerve to share it with Eddie. Why would he be mad at me about that? 

What did I do wrong this time?


	3. Spaghetti Bolognese

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I personally don't see Stan and Bill as anything but friends, but here's a little something for the Stenborough fans. It's not really slashy, but it's still cute, at least I think so. :) And of course, there is lots more Reddie. Thank you again for all of your comments and kudos on this fic!

It finally stopped raining, but the clouds are still low and angry in the sky, and the air outside makes me feel like I'm swimming through a swamp. I can't stand this kind of weather, but there's nothing I can really do about it. That's the worst thing about weather-- it's something that just happens, and it can be either a gift or a curse. But today, it definitely feels like more of a curse. It feels like the clouds hate me, even more than I sometimes hate myself. 

After striking out on the field of Eddie Kasbrak for what feels like the fiftieth fucking time I decide I can't face him again for a while. Usually I like to linger at his locker after school, telling him dirty jokes that make his ears go this pretty shade that I've dubbed Eddie-reddie in my head, but after what happened at lunch today I'm not even sure he wants to be within the same solar system as me, maybe not even the same universe. So instead I invite myself over to Bill's house after school.

"S-S-Stan's coming o-o-over too," says Big Bill as we unlock our bikes from the rack. "He just n-n-n-needs to go h-h-home for a b-bit to get M-M-M-Monopoly."

"Monopoly?" I groan, cursing my luck. I get down on my knees in front of Bill like I'm pleading for my life, because that's sure as hell how it feels. "Anything but that. _Anything!_ " 

Monopoly is serious business with Stan and Bill, but me? I'd rather get stampeded to death by a herd of rampaging elephants. At least getting squished underneath a hundred tons of saggy baggies would be more exciting than watching my two dorky friends arguing over who gets to buy Park Place. 

"B-b-beep-b-beep, Richie," says Big Bill, but he's smiling at me, and he even helps me up off the ground like the foine, foine gentleman that he is. "Anyway, you d-don't have to pl-pl-play if you don't w-want."

"Like that's supposed to make everything okay," I say with a pained sigh. The only thing worse than playing Monopoly is watching _other people_ play Monopoly. 

He just shrugs his shoulders at me and hops onto Silver. I slide onto my battered old Huffy, wincing at how far I have to bend my knees up to get my feet to connect with the pedals. I wish my parents would buy me a new bike, since I've had the same one for almost three years and it's been too small for me for at least a year and a half now, but I know they probably won't. They can't afford it, they'll say, and I'll want to say that's because they spend all of their money on alcohol and cigarettes. I'll _want_ to say that, but in reality I won't actually say anything, because they won't listen anyway. 

Part of why I say the things I say to my friends is because I want to make sure that they're listening. When they get annoyed by what I say, at least I know I'm being heard, you know? 

So anyway, that's how I find myself in Bill's room this afternoon, watching him and Stan setting up Monopoly. I reach down and steal the little dog token, my favorite. I call him Nicolai, and he's pretty saucy for such an old dog. One time he raided the bank and managed to steal five houses and a couple of hotels right out from under Bill's nose. Sometimes he and the shoe (Eddie's favorite token) get together and wreak havoc all around the board until Stan and Bill start yelling at us, and that's probably the best part I can think of about having to suffer through Monopoly. 

I pick up the shoe, turning its cool weight over in my hands. I miss my partner in crime. 

Before I can think too much about what I'm doing, I say, "Uh, guys? I have a problem."

"Tell us something we don't already know," deadpans Stan, and Bill smacks his arm. "What?" Stan continues with wide eyes. "He said it, not me."

"Wh-wh-what is it, R-R-R-Richie?" asks Bill, laying a hand on one of my shoulders. 

"Actually, it's more of a _hypothetical_ problem," I say, because these guys are two of my best friends, and I don't want to lose too much face in front of them. If they knew I was crushing on Eddie Spaghetti, I'd die a grislier death than Stripe at the end of _Gremlins_. 

"Sure," says Stan, raising one eyebrow. He ducks away before Bill can smack him again. 

"D-d-don't listen to h-him. G-g-g-go ahead, R-Richie," says Bill, giving me an encouraging smile. 

Instead of looking at them, I look at Nicolai and the shoe, lying side by side in my hand. Part of me wants to bust out with a rousing rendition of "Ebony and Ivory"-- you know, _side by side on the piano keyboard, oh lord_ \-- but I manage to fight it off. For now, anyway. 

Instead I say, "Well, hypothetically speaking, what's the best way to get someone to like you?"

"When my mom wants to do something nice for my dad, she makes him a really fancy dinner," says Stan after a pause. "So, maybe something like that?"

"Y-y-yeah, or wh-wh-wh-what about g-g-going somewhere r-romantic, m-m-maybe like wh-where you first m-m-m-met?" 

I jump up, letting Nicolai and the shoe fall out of my hands and clatter onto the Monopoly board without so much as a second thought. "Yeah, yeah," I say in my 1920's Gangster Voice. "That's the ticket, see. You guys are the best, see. I'll make sure you don't have to sleep with the fishes tonight, see." 

And before they can stop me I'm out the door so fast that I leave a tornado of Monopoly money trailing in my wake. This is for two good reasons: one, I have a lot to think about; and two, in case it isn't obvious by now, I _so_ don't want to play Monopoly with Bill and Stan.

***

The next day is Friday, and Eddie isn't at school. It thunderstormed something fierce last night, so the sky is still overcast, and the gray light peeking through the clouds reminds me that if I don't see Eddie today, I'll have to wait all the way until next weekend to do what I'm planning. And that isn't an option as far as I'm concerned. So, right after school I take my trusty old Huffy and zip on over to the Spaghetti residence to try and convince him to do my bidding.

When he opens the door, right away I notice he isn't wearing his cast anymore. But I jump back, pretending like I don't recognize him for a minute. "Eds! Is that you? There's something different about you today." 

"Haha, very funny," he says, rolling his eyes at me. "I got my cast off today, see? That's why I wasn't in school." And he flexes his arm for me, giving me a shy smile that makes me feel as squishy as the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man. 

I run my fingers down his bare arm, testing it, and he shivers underneath me. His eyes meet mine, and for a moment I swear I can see a sort of sparkle to them that makes me think maybe he likes what I'm doing, but then he clears his throat and looks away while he pushes my hand back against my side. 

After pestering him for five more minutes, which pretty much consists of me going, "Please?" and him going, "No!", I finally convince him to hang out with me tomorrow, and even better, he doesn't slam the door in my face. And just like that, my masterful plan is set into motion. This is the time, I tell myself, and I'm not talking about Miller Time. I'm talking about how brilliant my plan is, how it's basically failproof, and by this time tomorrow, my Eddie is going to be mine, like, for real, and not just in my overactive imagination. 

On the way back to my bike I notice the Venus fly trap isn't rotting against the side of the house anymore. Probably his mom found it and threw it out. And anyway, what happened to it doesn't matter, because that was one of the old, failed plans. What matters is what I'm going to do tomorrow.

And what I'm going to do tomorrow is going to be nothing short of _spectacular_.

***

Saturday morning dawns bright and clear and completely free of clouds. It's one of those classic New England September days that almost doesn't seem real, like it belongs in a movie or something like that. Part of me doesn't want to trust it, because this is me, and nothing seems to go my way lately. But what else can I do? Like I said, you can't exactly control the weather. And maybe I'm just being ridiculous like usual. I mean, if yesterday's weather was a curse, today's weather is a gift, and what could possibly go wrong with a gift? I mean, it's not like I'm Jokey Smurf or anything like that.

In a few hours, Eddie and I are seated in Mike's barn. The sheep are baa-ing every which way, and it's a more than a little smelly, but I don't mind. "What are we doing here, Richie?" Eddie asks, wrinkling his nose as he looks around the dim and dusty barn. 

"Why, Eds, I'm surprised at you," I tease. "Don't you remember that this is where we first met?"

See, our first grade class went on a field trip to Mike's farm, and when Mike's grandfather showed us around the barn, Eddie was standing right next to me, which sort of surprised me, because usually he avoided me like he thought he was going to catch something from me. He was a cute little guy even back then, with his big brown eyes and the freckles scattered across his cheeks, but he was also super shy. I had been trying to get him to talk to me for ages, but all he would usually do was take one look at me and run away. I think my Voices scared him. Hell, sometimes they scare me. 

Anyway, one of the sheep tried to eat his fannypack, and he shrieked. I have to admit I was impressed by the lungs on this peanut of a kid. I didn't think he had it in him at that point, although obviously, I know better now. My Eds is filled with so much fire he burns me on a near daily basis, but I didn't know that back then. So, I grabbed one side the fannypack, and he grabbed the other, and together we pulled it out from the sheep's jaws of doom. I felt almost like Rambo, doing something real heroic, you know? And guys like me don't get many chances to play the hero, so I really relished the awed way he looked at me afterwards. 

But it didn't last very long, because once Eddie saw the mangled fannypack, he was so upset he started gasping for air. In between gasps he managed to relay how he had asthma, but I didn't panic, because one of my cousins has it, and I knew what to do. Instead I asked him where his aspirator was and helped him to use it, making myself into an even bigger action hero in his eyes. After he could breathe again, his hand slipped into mine as we walked through the rest of the barn, and every time he looked at me I could see that awed look coming over him again. We've been best friends ever since. 

I can't believe it's been seven years since that day. I also can't believe we haven't killed each other yet. 

I start opening up the picnic basket that I packed this morning, because I can't wait to show Eddie what else I have for him. Last month it was my mom and dad's anniversary, and my dad took her out for a hot night on the town: dinner and a movie at the Aladdin, but not something cool like _Back to the Future_ or _Indiana Jones_. Nah, instead they saw this puke-a-riffic movie called _Beaches_ , which I guess my dad wasn't too impressed by, especially because now every time my mom hears "The Wind Beneath My Wings" playing on the radio she starts bawling. Anyway, they couldn't stop raving about the spaghetti bolognese they had for dinner that night. 

Spaghetti bolognese sounds pretty gross to me. I mean, baloney and spaghetti, who the hell came up with that little number? But I know Eddie really loves Italian food, so I thought I would impress him with my culinary skills. Okay, so I cheated with the sauce and used a jar of Ragu I found hiding in the pantry, but I cooked the spaghetti all by myself. Then I drained it, mixed it with the sauce, and wrapped a bunch of baloney around it. Maybe it doesn't look very pretty, and to be honest I'm not sure it's going to taste very pretty, but my parents were so excited about it, I figure it has to be something really special, right? 

Beside, it's a great excuse to pull out my Italian accent, which I am even more proud of than the spaghetti bolognese. "You are-a going to-a think-a zis meal is out of zis world-a," I promise Eddie, giving my pinched fingers a smacking kiss for emphasis. 

But when I open the Tupperware container, Eddie makes a face. "What _is_ that?" he asks, blinking at me. 

"What does it look like? It's spaghetti bolognese," I tell him. "It's _très romantique_. My parents love it." 

He gives me the weirdest look, like he's torn between yelling at me and hugging me. But just then, Mike's grandfather comes blasting into the barn, and he. Is. Pissed. "What are you kids doing here?" he shouts, glaring at us. 

I'm so startled I drop the spaghetti bolognese, and it goes spilling onto the dirt floor before we even got a chance to try any of it. Eddie is starting to wheeze beside me, but I don't think it's an asthma attack this time. I think he's just scared, but I can't say I blame him, not with Mike's grandfather looking at us like his head's about to explode. Eddie's hand slips into mine, just like it did seven years ago when we first became friends, right here in this very place. And how fucking perfect is that? 

"You kids can't be in here, it's dangerous," Mike's grandfather continues, even though I don't see what could possibly be dangerous about a barnful of sheep. I mean, what are they going to do, baa us to death? 

Mike's grandfather yells, "Get out!" and we... well, we get out. Duh. 

As we flee from the barn I realize we left the picnic basket behind. Maybe I can call Mikey and get him to retrieve it for me later, and as an extra added bonus, maybe it'll be a good chance for me to brush up on my Yogi Bear impression. _Hey, Mikey... I think I need to find my pickanick basket!_ I also realize that Eddie is still holding my hand, and it feels _amazing_. Like, I'm light-headed, and that's just from holding his cute little hand.

The sky is blue and clear and cloudless as far as I can see. And even though there are no clouds today, I have a feeling that the good clouds are just around the corner. The shapes in the clouds will start to form again, and I find myself excited to discover just what they'll turn out to be. 


	4. Benny the Giant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in posting this... I haven't had much time to write for the past week or so. But here's the new part of this, and I should have the next (and final) part out much sooner. Oh, and I did update Ben's nickname to Benny the Giant (Andre the Giant) because I don't think an 80's kid would have any idea who Haystack Calhoun is, and Andre the Giant seems similar in size/stature to Haystack Calhoun, and he's someone 80's kids would actually know. :)
> 
> Oh, and there's a bit more Benverly in this chapter, yay.

The sky above us is a little hazy right now, but I barely notice, because Eddie's hand is still in mine, and he's _smiling_ at me and everything. It's just what I've always wanted, wrapped up in a neatly combed little Eddie package, and all I have to do is not screw it up. 

Can you see the problem here? I mean, this is me we're talking about. As much as I like to pretend like I'm some suave, smooth guy, the James Bond of our generation, the reality is, I'm a screw-up. That's the shape of my cloud, and nothing is ever going to change that. 

And Eddie, I mean... yeah, he's paranoid, and he pretty much thinks he's riding with non-stop service on the hypochondria train towards disease and death. He yells a lot, and he especially likes to yell at me. But underneath that, he's a really cool guy. Even though he finds a lot of my jokes disgusting, he still laughs at them. He's also the only one I've found who can actually keep up with me when it comes to trading insults. It's like he gets me, you know? And I get him. And on top of that he's fucking adorable, with eyes that could put Bambi to shame, and a smile that could light up every city in the world and still have some left to shine on a nobody like me. 

Eddie's cloud is _beautiful_ , and I wish I could just come out and tell him that without sounding like an idiot. 

We haven't talked a lot since we left the Hanlon farm, but he keeps glancing over at me when he thinks I'm not looking. I can see him chewing his lip out of the corner of my eye, like he wants to say something, but he can't quite get it out. After a few minutes of him opening and closing his mouth like the world's biggest bass fish, he finally settles on, "What are you doing tomorrow?" 

"Besides your mom?" I say, and I wince, because that just came out before I could catch it and drag it back to its cage by its collar. 

He rolls his eyes. "That's so fucking gross," he says, but he still doesn't drop my hand, so maybe I actually got away with it this time. 

"Wanna meet me at the quarry? I'll show you zee moon and zee stars, my love!" I sweep my free hand across the corn field we're currently walking through in what I hope is a grand romantic gesture. 

"You know I can't go out past dark," he says. "My mom won't let me."

"Okay, then I'll... I'll show you the clouds," I whisper, giving him a hopeful look. It's about the closest I can come to telling him how much it means to me when he sits with me and watches the clouds. 

"Do you think there will be any clouds tomorrow?" he asks, fixing me with those sweet brown eyes. 

I squeeze his hand and say, "I hope so." All of a sudden my mouth feels like it's stuffed with the corn husks crunching underneath our feet. 

He smiles and looks down at our joined hands, and just like the Grinch who stole Christmas, I can feel my heart growing three sizes. "I... I would like that," he says in a soft voice, the one he usually only uses when we're cloud watching. 

I'm so excited at this little turn of events that I can't contain myself any longer. I yell, "Cowabunga!" and I want to beat my chest like I'm Tarzan, but that would mean letting go of his hand, so I don't. In my Monster Truck Rally Voice I continue, "Eddie 'Spaghetti' Kaspbrak and Richie 'The Trashmouth' Tozier will be b-b-battling clouds-clouds-clouds at the quarry this Sunday-Sunday-Sunday!" 

"Why do you always have to add Spaghetti to my name? Why can't you just call me Eddie? It's really not that difficult," he says, glaring at me. 

"But you love it, Eds! You love it almost as much as your mom loves it when I'm pounding into her in the middle of the night. I'm surprised we haven't woken you up yet, because when we're in the throes of passion, well--"

"Ugh!" he yells before I can finish, wrenching his hand away. "You know, I like you a whole lot better when you're not being a jerk!"

He pushes past me, leaving me behind in the dying summer corn. All of a sudden the hazy sky feels like it's prickling into my skin, like I'm close to something big, but I still haven't quite gotten there yet. "You like me?!" I call after him, but he doesn't answer.

***

I make my way down to the quarry, even though it's after lunch now and I didn't get to eat anything, thanks to me flubbing up the whole spaghetti bolognese thing. Part of me is hoping that maybe Eddie wound up here too, but instead I find Ben's chubby ass sitting along the bank. "Benny the Giant!" I yell, clapping him on the back.

"Hey, Richie," he says, giving me a gentle smile. "You hungry? I packed sandwiches." 

"Lawd, have mercy!" I cry, getting down on my knees before him to salaam while he watches me with amusement shining in his brown eyes. "Benny, you are the _best!_ You got any chips? Or, like, Oreos or some shit like that?" Wooing my Eds is hungry work, after all. 

He laughs and starts laying a veritable feast before me: a six-pack of orange soda, a pile of pbj sandwiches, and enough packages of junk food to the point where we could stock our own vending machine down here. Benco, I think. It could be the biggest thing in the Barrens, if only we had, you know, electricity. But that's a minor detail, am I right? 

"I didn't know if anyone else would be here today, so I brought extra just in case," he says, shrugging his shoulders at me. I swear, one day they're going to nominate Ben for the fucking sainthood and I will not be surprised one bit. 

I tear through the food like I'm the Tazmanian Devil, while he busies himself skipping rocks along the surface of the quarry. When he sees me sit back, patting my belly and belching, he comes back to join me. 

"Where's Eddie?" he asks. "I called him last night, and he told me you guys were hanging out today. He sounded pretty excited about it, actually."

I sigh and pick up a rock, tracing it with my fingers. "Yeah, we _were_ hanging out, but..."

"What happened? Is he okay?"

"Yeah, he's fine," I say. "It's just..." 

I close my eyes for a moment, not sure what I want to say, how much I want to reveal. I'm not all that close with Ben, even though he's a sweet guy and all of that mushy junk. But maybe that's why I feel like I can trust him with this, because he and I aren't super close, you know what I mean? Like, he'll understand better than Bevvie, or Bill and Stan, because he's not right there in the middle of it. He can be more impartial, like Judge Wapner when he's presiding over _The People's Court_. 

"I'm really confused," I confess. I shoot him an anxious glance, hoping he won't laugh at me for trying to sort through the tangle of feelings that are rushing through me like the Kenduskeag rushing through the Canal.

But St. Benny, he just slides a little closer to me, laying a hand on one of my knees. "What are you confused about?"

So I start telling him about Eddie, about how I feel. I tell him about how lately I can't stop myself from teasing Eddie even more brutally than usual, because that's the only way I know how to flirt, but he doesn't seem to like it very much anymore, and I don't know why. I tell him about the Venus fly trap I bought for Eddie with my lawn-mowing money, and how much it hurt when Eddie rejected it. I tell him about the poem I wrote, and how weird it was that Eddie got so mad about it afterwards. I tell him about what happened today at Mike's farm, how I made Eddie spaghetti bolognese, and how everything had been going great, until suddenly it wasn't again. I even tell him about Eddie's last words to me, about how he said he liked me when I wasn't a jerk, and how that just made me feel even more confused. 

"I just don't get it," I say, hanging my head. "What am I doing wrong, Benny?"

He looks at me for a few moments, and I know he's thinking about everything I just said, trying to make sense of it all. "Okay," he says. "Think about it. You said you've been teasing him a lot. And he gets mad when you tease him, right?"

"Yeah, but he always gets mad. He gets mad, and then I tease him even more, but it doesn't mean anything, it's just... it's just us, kidding around. I mean, that's kind of what we do, you know?"

"Okay, but you said things are different now, right? Like, now you like him? When you didn't before."

"Right," I say. "But what does that have to do with anything?"

He sighs and squeezes my knee in what I can tell is a great show of patience. "Now all of a sudden, he doesn't want you to tease him so much. Why is that?"

I shake my head. "I dunno," I say. "I really don't. I don't fucking get any of this, Benny. I'm sorry."

"Okay, think about it this way. You said you gave him the Venus fly trap, but before that you were teasing him at lunch? 'Cause I remember that day. You were driving him crazy to the point where he was almost crying, and I could tell he wasn't playing around with you then. He was really pissed at you, but you wouldn't quit singing those stupid songs."

I just look at him without saying anything, my mind trying to put together all of the puzzle pieces Benny keeps throwing at me. He continues, "Then, what happened that day when you wrote the poem? Did you tease him at all before that?"

A lightbulb goes on over my head, and for once it isn't a broken one. "Yeah," I say, leaning forward. "Come to think of it, I did. Or he thought I was teasing, anyway. I actually wasn't though. I was telling him how cute I thought he was, and he thought I was just screwing around. He asked me something like, 'Why can't you be serious for once?' And then I launched into the poem, and afterwards he... he said I was mean and that he hated me."

"So... why would he say that?" Ben prompts me. 

I pause, because even though the lightbulb is on, it's still pretty faint, like grayish light way in the back of some dusty old closet stuffed with heaps of junk. "Because... because he thought..."

"Come on, you almost have it," Ben says to encourage me. "Because he thought what?"

"Because he thought I was teasing him," I realize, the light finally shining through my admittedly dim-witted mind, at least when it comes to matters of the heart. "He didn't know I was serious. Yeah, that must be it! And that's why he got mad today when I started talking about banging his mom, and why he said..."

"He said he liked you too," Benny supplies, grinning at blushing little old me: aww, shucks. "When you aren't being a jerk, anyway."

"And that's why he's been so mad at me, because he likes me too," I realize, before launching into my Edna the Saucy Newscaster Voice. "This just in: Eddie Spaghetti wants the Trashmouth in a major way. More details at eleven."

Benny laughs and gives me a one-armed hug, but I barely notice, because all I can think is _Eddie likes me, Eddie likes me, Eddie likes me_ over and over like a hamster spinning in a wheel. I think I know what I need to do now, how to convince him that my love is true. All I really need to do is be myself, but like, _better_ , you know what I mean? I don't need to hide anymore behind teasing and stupid your mom jokes. And I don't need to keep trying to impress him with gifts and meals and poetry. I need to show him the true shape of me, like I did with Benny today. I need... 

"I wish I could've read this poem of yours," says Ben, interrupting my thoughts. "I dabble in poetry a bit, you know."

"You do?" I say, and before I can stop myself I tell him about what happened with Beverly, and how when I asked her what to do about Eddie she ran her fingers over her lips before telling me I should try poetry...

The smile spreading across old Benny the Giant's face makes it completely worth it. After all, we all saw what happened that day down in the sewers, when he woke her up with True Love's Kiss. Even though Bill told me he kissed her too, that day when we cut our palms and made the vow to come back if It wasn't dead. And Bill's one of my best friends, and an all-around peach of a guy, don't get me wrong. I mean, he's the dude I probably look up to the most out of anyone, the best one out of all of us Losers. But I know Bevvie, and now I feel like I know Ben a little better, and I really think that one day, she's going to wake up and realize that Ben is the one for her. I think he would take real good care of her, and Bev needs that in her life: someone kind, who will be patient with her, and who will treat her like the queen she is. And I only hope that I'm around to see it when it finally happens, for both of them. 

As for me, I turn my head up to the sky and I'm delighted to see a single fat, puffy cloud floating along. To me, it looks like a chance, hopefully the last one I'll need. It's risky, putting myself out there and hoping Eddie won't stomp on my heart too bad. But tomorrow when I meet him here at the quarry, I'm going to let him see me, just like this one lonely cloud, drifting along the horizon. 

And I'm just going to have to hope that's enough for him.


End file.
